


Comet of Morality

by FanfictionConsort



Category: Heroes of the Storm (Video Game), Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Do I know what I'm doing? No., Drama, Gen, Will that stop me? Also no.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2020-12-31 16:11:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21148520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FanfictionConsort/pseuds/FanfictionConsort
Summary: What is the value of one's soul and self? Be you Dragon or Demon: It is worth approximately everything and nothing.





	1. Part One: Shadow of Death

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hadronix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hadronix/gifts).

Light. Blinded. Pain.

Darkness. Dead. Release...

What followed was a bizarre moment of detachment. Clarity. Life flashed through a mind, tens of thousands of years going by in a blink. And then... Nothing.

As what shards of a soul were left found themselves drifting free of millennia of cursed influence, for a few moments they wondered why they weren't damned to the deepest pits of the multiverse already.

And then...

Light. Blinded. Pain.

Fire. Gravity. Impact.

* * *

"Oh good, you woke up! I was worried you'd be unconscious for long enough I couldn't help you." There was a voice. High pitched. Female. "I can't be seen with you right now, since that dooms this timeline, so just let me tell you- Things are going to be okay. You're... Basically in eternal torment, but you might find that you like it here if you just find something that you care about."

There was a gentle feeling on his face. Earth... No, sand.

"Gotta go now. Bye bye, please don't follow the darkest timeline!"

He became aware of a presence leaving. An unmistakable presence. A dragon. Now there was nothing. He couldn't move- every inch of him felt worse than he'd ever been able to remember. Remember...

A cold wind blew. Sunlight and shade moved overhead. Thought fragmented into impossible shards. Faces. Scents. Places. And a profound emptiness. Every memory felt so empty and meaningless. His strength felt less than enough to lift his own head- and what reason would he have to do so?

But an eye opened nonetheless.

Around him there was a crater. An immense crater, big enough to host all his close children in meeting- and all of the other Aspects too, if they weren't too zealous about their duties to maintain... As... Who?

It felt like bending a steel bar as thick as it was long, but his forced his forelegs and wings to move. He opened the other eye. He looked around. Beyond the crater, there was destruction. Tell-tale signs of a huge fire, and the rubble of buildings that could have housed tiny races. What could have caused...

He looked down. Metal plates, covering him tip to toe. Elementium and Adamantium, formerly full-body but split and warped by immense heat and strength. An entire body that felt like a bruise. A distant memory of falling, falling fast enough to burn.

He'd done this by merely arriving. By simply falling.

But no feelings sparked inside. He could recall the barest ghosts of pride, rage, triumph, desire, hatred... But now, he felt nothing. Nothing good or bad. Only emptiness.

It was a tranquility he had not felt since he was a tiny child, barely bigger than a horse.

"Is this the land of the punished dead?" His voice echoed out, booming over the catastrophe. But as soon as he voiced the question, he felt able to form an answer. "No. If this is the best the universe can say about my actions, then they had less impact than I thought possible. I must be... Elsewhere."

It still felt like a fog was rolling inside his head, but the likelihood of not being dead after having the Dragon Soul used to disintegrate him was zero. Something had saved him. And something had broken everything about him, inside and outside. "Why am I here?"

No answer presented this time. He supposed that meant he would have to actually think about that. It was difficult, for some reason- he was sure he wasn't stupid. Yet this was like trying to move a ship without sails. He couldn't seem to think of any reason to exist. But then, finally, he felt something. It was a tiny spark, barely befitting one of the stupidest races. But he felt a tiny, tiny drop of willpower somewhere inside. He latched onto it.

And he gained a goal. One as basic and instinctive to most creatures as breathing.

"I must heal."

There was a blast of flame and a gust of scorching air, and the shadow of death was cast over the land.

* * *

**Elsewhere**

A young girl with snowy skin and hair, but strikingly red eyes sat at a worn desk, reading letters and writing more. "The entire Haunted Mines realm was wiped out. Reports indicate it was like a meteor struck and exploded with force rivaling a nuclear blast. The estimated death toll is... In the tens of thousands. The threat has been unquestionably identified as Deathwing by Alliance forces..."

The albino girl reading the grim reports betrayed little hint of emotions. There was no room for someone in her station to lose control of a situation. She just started scribbling a letter and dotting points on a map.

"Delia, get me Alexstrasza, and have our mages track his course so I can evacuate people as needed. If we're dealing with something at all like the reports indicate, then this is a crisis on par with the Dark Nexus."


	2. Ashes

The world burned. Trees to charcoal, grass to ash. He wasn't even trying at first, but as he continued to fly the flame on his wings cooled, the dread powers they were infused with running as empty as his chest.

It was still destruction of untold magnitude, undoubtedly enough to make even someone with no care for nature at all baulk at the potential consequences. And Deathwing was acutely aware that this was reducing thousands of acres of arable land to scorched wastes, or as it stood now, merely killing many crops. Any animals unlucky enough to survive the immense temperature spike would be driven into a competition for food and resources in this wasteland, and...

He didn't care.

He could clearly recall caring about this. Taking a vindictive satisfaction from having tapped into infinite mad power from the Old Gods, using it to lay waste to the world that he hated so deeply...

Yet now, it just didn't seem like it was worth bothering.

Why?

As he flew on and on, he stopped trying to burn things entirely. It just felt like a waste of time, something absolutely inconsequential and tedious.

It took barely a day before the weather started to change. It was cold at high altitudes, and before him he saw a mountain range that stretched up to the sky so proudly. Something seemed almost familiar, but he had no idea why.

The knowledge that he couldn't feel anything was actually starting to become the only thing close to making him feel anything outside a basic desire to heal himself.

'If I am broken, could I die?'

The fear of death was one he had not known for a short while- perhaps ten, twenty years? He could almost recall the exact week where hatred, madness and sheer eldritch power overtook everything within him. It was after he was defeated by the aspects...

The thought of the word 'aspects' felt unusual, too. Like everything with an attached memory. He waa sure he should have almost exploded in rage and resent at the thought, but it was just as useless as everything else.

There had to be something to make him feel. He trawled through memories and not a single one evoked the slightest emotion. So almost mechanically, he stopped trying to feel through just memory.

Perhaps recreating a memory? Would actually experiencing something he took pride in evoke pride again? He didn't actually have the ability to hope so. He was simply scrolling through his options, as methodical and detached as a computer. His great triumphs... Destroying things came to mind. The Blue Dragonflight. Stormwind. Rheastrasza.

But here he was, flying over the lands of Alterac. There were barely even villages to find here, and he could sense war below. War that had already claimed many of the settlers here, and driven off more. There was little to destroy here, but he would try anyway. There was a village a few minutes' flight away, the earth it rested upon telling him everything.

Death fell upon them.

It was less difficult than kicking over a snowman. He landed without warning, power manifesting as a rain of flames and ashes, lava seeping up through the icy dusting on the ground, and almost a thousand years worth of pure experience in combat kicking in to make him roar, bite, and burn in patterns cunning enough to match another aspect.

They were barely a thousand humans, only a hundred of which were able to fight. They had bows and spears against the Old Gods' strongest pawn.

He barely even noticed the last building reduced to rubble. He roared over the carnage, just as he remembered he did to his other conquests... nothing.

And then he felt a speck of power, behind him. Sand was still a part of the earth. The Aspects may have held different domains, but the domains could never be truly considered separate.

"No no no, you weren't supposed to do that! Ugh, stupid possible timelines..." He turned. A bronze dragon flitted about the rubble in a panic, seemingly muttering to herself. "Of all the possible- You really had to go for the immediate worst option?!"

"...You." It was an observation that he paused in, the first actual use of his voice since he found himself in this place. It sounded like a landslide, like an earthquake... like something burnt out. "You are the one I heard before. Explain your words- what is _wrong_ with me?"

That got her attention. "Long story short, Old Gods. Uhh, actual long story... I'm pretty bad at sequences, I warn you."

"I am power incarnate. The Aspect of Death. The Worldbreaker. The Destroyer. That power is still mine." The words, while deep, booming and forceful, lacked in delivery. They were statements read from a book, simple facts. They told nothing of how he earned those titles, of the feats behind them. "I feel it. Something has wounded me- Explain what. Nothing else matters."

He reflected that he could kill this other dragon. She was a scrawny thing, by Bronze standards. Magically adept, probably a result of honing her strengths instead of trying to salvage weaknesses... but no spell could stop him breaking her like chalk. He'd killed tens of thousands of dragons, all of them just as powerful as her. And he recalled he had parted with the Bronze flight as bitter enemies. He wondered why he hadn't attacked on sight.

Perhaps because he hadn't felt anything towards her.

"Okay okay, long story. You basically got corrupted by the Old Gods over time because you were really bad at talking to your friends who would have kept you mentally healthy. And then uh... well you... committed some of the worst atrocities that we can remember before the other aspects got together and defeated you, and you were upset enough at losing your chance to commit even more atrocities that you totally left your mind open while you were hiding. Then your soul got devoured by the Old Gods, you went on an insane rampage fuelled by their power, and got slapped into the Maelstrom while Thrall was disintegrating you with your own superweapon."

"...But we're talking. I'm alive. There's more to this." A simple step of logic.

"Oh, this is the Nexus." She flicked her wings in a way that meant a shrug. "I'll cut to the chase for now, I'm running out of time before Alex gets here and I don't want to have to explain talking to you. You're missing most of your soul apart from the bits that are kind of tied to your brain because the Old Gods ate it. The Old Gods can't reach you in the Nexus. So you have no soul. You can fix it by finding something you draw spiritual strength from, but that's really not easy, anyway good luck because not having a soul is a finicky thing and it might make you drop dead at any moment- or you might get posessed by a ghost, who knows?"

There was a second's pause as he digested the information. 'Spiritual strength' was an abstract. Souls were outside his knowledge. Old Gods? Never heard of them, although he could recall thousands of years of whispering in a voice that wasn't his own...

"Anyway, Bye bye for now, I'm trying to help you because I'd rather not have the crazy rampage happen in the Nexus, talk to you again-" The dragon vanished in a puff of sand. Likely shifting herself in time in some way.

In just a second, Deathwing saw a different dragon appear on the horizon. One he knew almost as well as himself, had done immeasurable harm to, his mortal enemy- Alexstrasza.

"Impede me and die."

* * *

**Elsewhere**

Nestled in the shadow of an immense tower atop a hill was a courtyard of simple tiles and iron railings, of hardy flowers and weary heroes. From legends of the multiverse down to some simple caterers, all taking an hour to breathe. And without warning, sand started to float in the air, before a gnome stepped out, a sand sculpting of a bronze dragon falling away and into her body. She touched the floor and staggered like she was lightheaded.

"Chromie, you're hurt!?" A man in power armour ran forwards to catch the stumbling gnome.

"Just tired..." She yawned, waving a hand about as a mass of sands formed behind her. "Got to... avert the worst timelines while... Noz isn't here. Got most out of the village..."

The sands pulsed and solidified, before seeming to spit out a crowd of humans.


	3. Charcoal

The Dragonqueen.

Deathwing had already reflected on a great deal of memories since he came here. She featured in many of the most vivid. From the way she led council, to the time he convinced her to impart a portion of her power to his superweapon, to the times they'd fought, and the instance he'd engineered the ruination of everything she held dear...

She was the Aspect of Life. One who's every action was to bring about growth- even the destruction she wrought was oft for the sake of the bigger picture. The antithesis of all he had become.

He prepared spells, gathered power. Even without the ability to feel fear or anger at his most ancient enemy, he knew that a fight against her would need to be taken somewhat seriously... perhaps she had been outpowered when he had the madness of the Old Gods, but now he might actually be able to lose if he took the fight as a joke.

"Deathwing!"

He looked up. She was close, too close. Height was normally an excellent advantage in combat, but his mastery of magma and rock would make it all too possible to ground her. Add in his readiness, and he was confident he could fight her off.

"Alexstrasza."

She swept down, and magic was building around her to such a level she was almost starting to glow. To say nothing of the flame in her eyes and throat. "Stop your assault! The Nexus is a place of conflict, but you- you've killed tens of thousands!"

"Have I? I don't remember... I doubt this village held so many of your precious humanoids."

"I will not allow you to repeat your actions from Azeroth." She was terse, on the verge of attacking and likely holding herself back. She certainly was positioning herself for a fight, hovering at just the right range to sense and dodge a volcanic explosion while being out of range of all the ways he might kill her by manipulating the rocks. "Nor do you have the Demon Soul, lost brethren. If you don't turn back now and not return, I will fight you- and I WILL kill you!"

"I cannot turn back. I will live, and you Alexstrasza- you of all beings have never successfully stood in my way. Come, try and destroy me. Perhaps in battle I will be healed?"

It was a guess, just as all actions before it. He could recall fragments of lore from many races, and many spoke of warriors having mighty spirits. This was simply one more avenue to explore in pursuit of healing.

"And so I must end you, for the good of the Nexus!"

"Your Nexus will TREMBLE!"

He stamped, and magic surged. A burst of lava and boiling ashes was thrown up at Alexstrasza, but as he predicted she was already on the move. With a beat of his wings and a roar, he unleashed more of his power, launching streams of explosions and a blast of flame from his skin, turning the whole area into a molten bowl- perfect for cutting down her option to move.

But she was quick and just as strong. She dashed through the worst of it and used her wings cleverly, air deflecting the brunt of the flames long enough for her to muster a counterspell and forcibly quell the inferno around them, hardy plant life growing at a supernatural pace. Then she launched into the air without warning, and breathed fire, infused with magic.

He simply charged straight into the jet stream, and slashed at her chest, before they both went to ground, and began a melee. Biting, clawing, tail strikes- he had weight and strength that should have easily let him come out ahead, grapple her, break her neck, snap her wings- but she was somehow evading his blows, and the lacerations and other damages he made mended themselves in the blink of an eye.

He suddenly felt lost. Like a hatchling who had just learned to fly, and proceeded to jump into a gale even the hardiest of dragons would struggle to stay afloat in.

He was used to raging in battle, and still... he felt nothing. No hatred, no anger, no fear... only the most basic sense to avoid death. The ferocity that he would have driven himself with, the ability to read her and know her next move- without it, the fight was even.

But he had a few more ways to win.

A row of rock spikes shot up, almost managing to impale her. But more importantly they concealed him for a split second, and he took a full breath.

She broke through the rocks.

He blew a magma stream straight into her face. Anything below an aspect would have been vaporised. And as soon as his breath ran out he charged, ducked, and rammed her. Dragonskin was tough, but Adamantium platemail with a huge spike on the front? It was a deep wound to the shoulder. Enough to cut her strength and speed on the ground.

She tried to take off, and he followed, conjuring meteors. One hit her left wing, another hit her right in the back, hard enough to break the boulders. She was forced to land.

He could finish it easily now- one quick rock spire through the heart, and-

She shrunk to elven form, causing him to miss completely. Clever, but it was only prolonging the inevitable- and now she couldn't get back into dragon form without giving him a whole second to choose exactly where he'd strike.

Victory, but he couldn't feel a thing. Maybe words. Words that had always given him a sense of satisfaction when they cut deep. "How does it feel, losing again? From the time I held the Dragon Soul, to the time I handed it to Nekros, to the time I burned down your world around you." He let himself rumble, put the best facade of actually meaning his words up that he could... He loomed over her. "Tyranastrasz. Rheastrasza. Sindragosa. Doesn't it sting, to know you'll join them in death before me?"

Alexstrasza looked up defiant, even as blood streamed over her arm. "You already died! I'll always oppose your treacherous hate, even if I've had to be thrown into the far planes of chaos to do it!"

There was a slight vibration in the air, and Deathwing suddenly paused. Her words were curious, and his monologue didn't have the effect he'd hoped on himself- but that feeling was...

'Mother Crystal! Guide my blade.'

A glint of movement caught his eye. A human drawing back their left arm, sword gripped tight. He lunged to finish Alexstrasza, and they slammed the blade down.

The earth was torn apart in a single pulse of red energy. The blastwave ripped apart the snows and soil at speed, crashed into him and to his amazement- it hurt. It was easily as painful as being hit by one of Alex's deadliest blows, and it had crashed right into his side, enough to make him step back in surprise.

One of his plates was hanging off. The rivets attaching it to his bones had been ripped out by the strike.

And in the time he'd processed that, the human had charged in, grabbed Alexstrasza, and pointed her right arm behind her, firing some kind of cord.

He didn't expect her to suddenly pull them both away, but she repeated the process with alarming speed, and unless he was going to fully commit to chasing them and finishing the job... But why bother? It was clear that the path to restoring his soul was elsewhere.

And now he was physically injured too. He looked at the dislodged plate. The attack hadn't quite carved through adamantium, but whatever it was- such magical strength was far beyond human conjuration. That human... dark-skinned, dressed in a way he'd never quite seen before... She didn't carry herself the way a spellcaster did. No, she was a fighter, one steeped in pragmatism and skill. Like his own daughter... What was the name... It started with an O... or was it an N..?

Better to leave this place. Staying too long only invited another fight- a waste of time and energy.

As her flew, he pressed an arm over the plate and superheated the metal. It was difficult work, but eventually he managed to weld it back onto his skin. If only it were so easy to cure the other ailments that drove him.

* * *

**Alterac Pass, Minor Alliance Fortification.**

Alexstrasza had fixed her wounds. Her strength was exhausted for the moment, but would very soon return. Of course, it very nearly had ended differently. "You may put me down, Qhira. I am quite able to walk."

"Understood. If you'll excuse me, I need to renegotiate my contract. Immediately."

She put the dragon/elf down and left for the warmth of the fort without a word, and Alexstrasza was reminded that she hadn't talked to her arranged saviour about the troubled heart she sensed. She was too preoccupied with losing her fight against Deathwing, and now that wound could be left to deepen. But still, there were bigger problems at hand.

She was no mage, but speaking across distances wasn't by any means hard. She walked into the privacy of one of the small towers, and traced a circle in the air with a finger, careful to weave an environmentally harmless enchantment. As she hoped, Orphea picked up the message. The girl seemed a mixture of disappointed, unsurprised, and worried.

"No need to explain, I've got the facts." Orphea started. "Qhira already rang our phone."

"It's barely been a minute." Alexstrasza noted.

"I hired her as a mercenary expecting to use her and her knights as guards for our outposts in the Dark Nexus." Orphea shrugged. "Combat should always have been in advantageous situations against enemies she could realistically beat. That's what I sold her. Anyway, my economy is picking up a bit while there are still things to scavenge from all the fresh ruins in my land. I can take the hit."

"We cannot- I cannot leave Deathwing unchecked. I..." Alexstrasza took a slight breath. "Thank you for forcing me to take support. I was so worried about stopping him quickly that I forgot how hard it would be to stop him."

Orphea had a small, self-assured smile at that. "You are most welcome, O dragonqueen. I'm stretched pretty thin for resources over here, and Raynor is still waiting for the Hyperion to resurrect, so we don't have much that can help you in a direct fight. That said, Delia is riding back to King's Crest to make sure he doesn't get ingratiated with their religion."

"Very good. Show me where I am needed, then. Deathwing may outpower me, but-"

Orphea held up a hand to stop. "You're not to try and fight him again." She said sternly, more than Alexstrasza really wished to hear from a young mortal. "Your flight is the only thing standing between my people and total failure of all our agriculture. And we're the only people standing between the Nexus and Dark Nexus. Fall back to us, and leave this problem to Delia and Qhira until they can organise a movement to put Deathwing in a situation you can win."

"...That is a difficult order to follow, Orphea. But I cannot deny it makes sense." Alexstrasza cut the message and sighed. Taking orders was hard to get used to after so long doling them out. But Orphea was the lynchpin holding Ravencourt and its allies together right now, and if her authority were to wane...

She shuddered. Best not think about that.


	4. Empty Dreams

The search continued. Deathwing flew for a day, using powers the way someone might fiddle with a computer not responding. Meteors, spontaneous combustion, pyroclastic flows, even the creation of volcanoes. He noted he was still almost as strong as he was before his arrival here. Godlike, he recalled describing the might as.

Such a notion was of no use. A god would not fear for their life because they were missing something they weren't entirely sure was real.

And a god would not grow tired. But so he did. It seemed that while he could easily reach similar potential to before, doing so now had actual cost to his stamina. That, he was sure was a repercussion of losing the power of the Old Gods.

He landed in some nondescript crags of the snowy plains. Even with sections burned, this was a land of ice. By his will, the land reshaped, a natural cave forming in the rock face to let him rest.

He crawled in, and lay down.

Yet he found it difficult to sleep. At first, his mind was blank, unable to conjure anything of interest for him to reflect on to make the small cave a bearable resting place. Eventually, he drifted off anyway, tiredness claiming him.

What followed was truly bizarre, however. It was as though it happened in the blink of an eye, but he was sure he was fast asleep and had been for several hours.

He found himself completely self-aware, standing on a flat grey rock that stretched out into infinity. Not as far as the eye could see- his connection to the rocks and stones told him it literally expanded as far as his mind could concieve.

"So, it is true."

He turned.

There was a Night Elf standing behind him. One he didn't recognise. Long flowing hair, silver armour... not a dragon, much to his surprise. Few beings would willingly step up and place themselves on equal footing to any dragon. Let alone one of his reputation.

"The Aspect of Betrayal has come to the Nexus." She continued. "And without his soul, no less."

"Don't play games with me. If you have information, I will hear it."

She was decidedly unimpressed. "You might think your words are intimidating, but they could not mean less. We are speaking through a dream. I am simply a projection in your head. You could focus your damnable self on nothing but destroying me, and it would likely hurt you more than me, as we are in your dream."

"A dream?" He looked around. "...You are not one of Ysera's blood... Her right-hand, or something to that affect I presume?"

"High priestess of Elune, for what that is worth to scum like you." She spat. "If I was in a position to, I would rather kill you, and proceed to hunt you down until the end of our time here than speak to you. The atrocities to your name are enough to vilify you amongst the Alliance AND Horde, and that is no small feat!"

"Get to the point. I have a task." He said, the anger noted but unable to touch an empty heart.

Tyrande glowered. "Step back. Between your forelegs on the floor."

Deathwing shuffled, and looked down. There was a... presence there. He couldn't define it, even though he was looking right at it none of his senses told him anything about it. "What is that?"

"That is what I came here to speak about. I do not make empty threats- I will destroy you at first opportunity. However, this mindscape- its' emptiness indeed confirms you have lost your soul. That item there is what is left of it."

Deathwing picked it up. He wasn't sure how, he was just aware he picked up the item. If he really focused on it... no, he was only imagining things. It didn't resemble anything. "...This is it? This is the piece of me that is so broken?"

"It should be about the size of your hand when you look at it. It also should be much deeper inside your mind." Tyrande explained.

Deathwing was aware it was about the size of... of...

"Your remnants are about the size of a potato, versus the dragon egg they should be." She supplied. "I don't think I need to kill you. The mind cannot subsist on logic alone."

Deathwing imagined the size it should be. What was left was... well, nothing really. "So I am dying." He said.

"Indeed. The effects vary by person. Some find themselves unable to bother eating or breathing. Some find their heart stops beating. Some go mad with self-destructive intent. I am sure Alexstrasza will mourn, but I assure you, the rest of us shall cheer."

"Meaningless. Is there anything of consequence you can tell me?"

"Why should I? I came here to assess a threat." She countered. "I am nature's guardian, especially in the absence of my allies." She sat crosslegged on the floor, and shut her eyes. "Do as you please. I have nothing to say to deaf ears."

There was a long pause. Deathwing had little to do but think about the conversation. "...Dreams are not Elune's domain."

Her eyes snapped open.

"Ysera and Elune are allies, I am aware." He continued. "But the rituals and magic pertaining to dreams comes from Ysera, her bloodline, and her realm. She would be here for me, if she could."

"This is the Nexus. The duty was unattended. Malfurion covered for a time, but as he is currently dead I am working overtime." She snapped back.

"The Nexus..." He mused. "Tell me more. I suspect it may provide me a hint- and if you do not, then I am sure you do not doubt I will torture the information from the first person I can find."

She scowled. "You heartless- ugh... of course, you ARE heartless..." She fixed him with an impressively fierce glare. In a different life, he would have found such fire a pleasure to subvert or crush. "The Nexus is a realm between all worlds. A focal point of dimensions. I presume you know about them."

"...Not my area of expertise. Continue, however."

"Azeroth, and her nearby worlds like Outland, are one of four major dimensional groups that access the Nexus. The others are Sanctuary and its' nearby realms the Burning Hells and High Heavens, Koprulu which is a truly nature-forsaken if massive place, and Earth." She thought about things for a moment. "There are two ways to get here, and I can only imagine one affecting you."

"How did I get here, then?" Deathwing asked. Could there be a hint here?

"The first, common way, is by a dimensional gateway. Extreme willpower and magic can generate one, or perhaps the cursed mechanical methods you might find in Koprulu or Earth."

Deathwing shook his head. "The Maelstrom is powerful, but no such gateway."

"No. You, as was so kindly explained to me, are a Spatial Echo. As am I." Tyrande got up. "This information is more complex, and harder to come by than I would like to admit, hence why I am ceding to your request. You would have to torture swathes of this world to find someone who knows apart from a select ally of mine. I am only sure of the basics."

"Speak of them. If you would spare this world my wrath."

"When one accomplishes something that is truly memorable, and the memory is spread amongst a massive amount of intelligent life, then it... creates some kind of semi-magical effect. Even in worlds without magic. What happens is a... sort of copy of whomever performed the deed echoes here, to lead a half-life."

"Half-life?"

"We cannot die. Not traditionally. What we are... is like a copy, but so perfect as to be able to rightfully consider our actions indistinguishable from that of the original. We can change and grow, but do not age. If we are killed, we will return to life, but without our memories and changes from before- restarting at the point we were copied."

"Hmm... then, the Old Gods..?"

"An active influence on you would recede. If the power did not come from within, then it would need to reach across the multiverse to reach you here." She explained. "So you are only as strong as an Aspect here. Poor you. But I have no delusions that you don't bear the guilt of your actions before they touched you. I was there, the day you turned the Demon Soul on my allies. I will never forget watching my trusted ally slaughter his closest friend's family and then my army."

"You're off topic. I am immortal here?"

"No. Echoes fade." Tyrande said simply. "Regardless of how little you die or how long you may live, you will likely fade in a few decades. However, if you die, you are back to sqaure one in trying to mend a soul. Which, I assure you, is not easy. One death could well make it impossible to perform in time to have any days alive."

"Empty threats. I have made progress in under a week."

"And has it brought you where, exactly? Your goal lies at unknown distance, behind challenges that even I do not know. You may well start wishing on stars, because restoring a destroyed soul? I can think of few tasks greater. Now, I have other dreams to tend on behalf of Ysera, so good. Night."

It was amazing how much venom could be packed into a simple parting phrase. He was left to look at the incomprehensible object that was supposedly a vital part of him, before the grey stone around him finally started to fade away.

Once awake, then Deathwing paused. More options to explore presented themselves. No avenue could be ignored, from the most fanciful to the ones that might draw on hundreds of years of learning. And all the while, he had to be conscious of a possible unknown timer on his life, and ensure he didn't die through conventional means- as unlikely as that was, he did at least know that he only had his own strength here. No Old God power.

Though on reflection, perhaps that was a good thing. There was plenty of heat deformation on this platemail bolted to his skeleton, and much missing skin beneath it. The sheer magical energy had been killing him. He wondered why he was so obsessively using it, before losing interest in the matter and refocusing on his task at hand.

Organising thoughts was easy enough. From easiest to hardest...

To wish upon a star, to pray for aid (however that was meant to work... The Light is a mystery for the ages), to steal a soul, to find a healer who specialised in such matters, to find someone who might be praised for strength of spirit and emulate them, to try and draw his soul further out of his body and physically mend it somehow, or, the unthinkable option of breaking through all dimensions and knocking on the Old Gods' doors to demand the original back.

The last option he was sure would have been attractive to his former self, though whatever the Nexus was, it wasn't something he imagined someone without willpower could ever dream of escaping. Nor was he delusional about his ability to try and openly fight an entity that could place him under mind control at will. He was soulless, not brainless.

So then, option one... He looked at the sun. Bright, even over this snowy mountain land. The only star visible at daytime.

"Fix my soul."

Nothing happened. But worth the five seconds spent. You could never be sure when someone was veiling information in cryptic hints.

* * *

**Alliance Main Fortification, Alterac**

Delia rode over snowy plains to the fort, glad to have finished this long leg of her journey. Alterac's chill was not something she especially enjoyed, nor did she look back on the battles she'd fought here fondly.

She stabled her horse, took a second to fix her appearance, and marched into the main keep. All manner of self-doubt wished to encroach on her, but for the time being her effort to succeed kept that at bay. Once inside, it was a matter of making sure she was wearing the insignia that marked her rank, and going through a few rooms until she reached the most important: The War Room.

A dwarf was sitting in the main chair, studying a huge, detailed map of Alterac. A few other humans from Stormwind, Alterac and perhaps even a Kul'tiran or Lordaeron dweller bustled around, fighting the endless fight against paperwork and keeping the Alliance military operations here in order.

"Commander Vanndar. Have you recieved any word from Orphea in the last three days?"

Vanndar looked up. "Oh, hey lass. On the way back home, eh?"

Delia nodded. "It's... long overdue. My people have been operating on a skeleton of a government for months now. Still, I shouldn't talk like I'm going to be able to go back and just fix that with a snap of my fingers. If anything, I'm going back as a foreign emissary more than the princess."

"Suppose so! Don't suppose you've got anything to help us with the Deathwing problem? Might not seem like he's hit us hard yet, but we haven't been able to slow 'im down. Even scrambling every worker we've got, we don't know if we can make fortifications that'll stop 'im." Vanndar stretched, and popped his fingers.

"Deathwing is the problem I'm going home to deal with." Delia explained, before gesturing to an embossed gold icon of a dragon on her platemail, displayed as proudly as could be. "King's Crest has always had a religion entirely based around dragons. Normally that's fine and we don't have trouble rejecting the ones that shouldn't be followed, but amongst all the political turmoil and incredible amounts of corruption that sprung up after my father died... well, the last thing I need is my own country getting used against us."

"Hmm... You know, Deathwing did something like that back home." Vanndar mused. "Took a human disguise and got in good favor with the human kings, tried to take over from the inside or something like that? You should ask around, I don't know the details."

"I think I will. But for now, if there's no message, then it's about time I started doing my job right and served my people." Delia turned and left. "Best of luck with the forts, Vanndar."

"Ha, don't we all need that? Good luck with the politics, lass."


	5. Empty Words

Praying for divine aid was the second easiest thing Deathwing could think of trying.

He was still for a moment as he tried to comprehend what in the Nexus 'prayer' was actually meant to entail. He knew what a prayer was, and the words someone might say, but could anyone even use the Light outside humanity and their allies?

Certainly, no dragon would ever need to rely on something that really thought it was THAT much better than a dragon- and if they truly were faced with a problem that couldn't be overcome like an army, then they had the aspects to do whatever the Light did for the other races. Or Loa. Whatever the trolls danced around these days.

And even then, actually accessing the power of the Light for the first time was something nobody could really explain beyond 'have faith', which Deathwing of all dragons might have been the absolute worst at. In fact, as he tried to concoct some string of words that might make an effective bargain with an unknown power, he realised that he had _literally never placed faith in anything but himself. _

Sintharia? He'd trusted her exactly as much as necessary. Any important plan or major decision went through him alone.

Onyxia and Nefarian? Planning for their failures all along, disappointed but not surprised when his best children ended up with their heads on pikes.

Malygos? Alexstrasza? What was the original intent of the Dragon Soul..? To take on a part of the other aspects' responsibilities because he didn't think they could do well enough.

And even before getting into his trust issues, he really didn't have a clue about things like respect, devotion, loyalty, honesty, morality, and why on earth they would be important in bargaining for an exchange of services. He could offer any precious metals or gems within the earth, reshape the lands to his desire, and of course, set everything in a thousand-mile radius aflame if he had a few minutes to work. Those kind of powers were useful to anyone. They could snuff out thousands of souls in a blink. Surely even some otherworldly golden glow would see the value.

So, all things considered, it was about the worst facisimile of a prayer ever spoken.

"Light. I command you hear me. I am Deathwing, and I require your service. I demand you to mend the damage done to my soul, and in exchange, I will provide you all the riches you desire- or other services."

Exactly as expected, nothing. Which formed the crux of why it didn't work for him, but not having a drop of faith or sincerity aside... well, he did wonder if multiple counts of genocide being among your crimes would impact this. He couldn't really explain why the acts were wrong if the targets were unable to stop him, but he was aware that The Light was against that. Conditionally.

Onto the next plan.

If you don't have something, need it urgently, and cannot buy it, then the traditional options at that point are to make one (how?), beg for one (tried), or steal one.

Deathwing hadn't a clue how one was meant to steal a soul. Dreadlords could do it reliably and easily, even if there seemed to be conditions for claiming the souls of certain individuals. Dragons... not so much. But he was certainly going to try, since the alternatives were things he had even less experience with.

Step one, find something with a soul to steal.

He took off, and starting flying. Humans were plentiful and much more variable than any other race. If he'd find an ideal target, it would be among them.

He was aware of a few villages. Any target would be fine. It wasn't like they could stop him. That said, if one of them started counterspelling unexpectedly it would be bad purely for the time wasted, so...

He locked into a woodcutter. Barely a hundred paces outside his village, but isolated.

Deathwing descended to a low altitude, and even though he considered his wings and chest to be at their coolest right now, the residual heat was blazing a trail through the snows of hot rocks and bubbling mud, a perfectly straight, wide line. He tracked his target, mentally worked out a few things like momentum and lift, and for once in a long time, found an actual use for his human form apart from trickery.

He beat his wings once to provide a burst of force, changed to an armored man mid-flight, sailed through the air with an adamantium-clad leg outstretched, and delivered a flying kick the likes of which bards could only dream of. Exactly enough restraint to leave the majority of the man's body intact, while also breaking more than half his bones and splattering things that should stay inside the body over the surrounding area liberally.

Step two, steal soul.

Deathwing was never as apt with magic as Malygos, or in-tune to the spirits as... well, every other dragon ever since he lost his soul. However he was aware of the crude, inefficient way to get what you wanted from magic: Just throw a ton of power suffused with your will at it, and bully it into doing what you want. Even with only the barest hint of a will, he became consciously aware that he actually DID manage to draw out that weirdly undefinable object from the now-dead human.

It hovered in front of him for a second before suddenly his sorcery felt it be yanked out of its' grasp by a force so sudden and strong that he felt a semblance of surprise for the first time in a long time.

Right, gone to the afterlife. Or just reincarnated. Nobody was sure. Of course it wasn't so easy as just plucking a soul out of the first target, and he felt he should have known that considering he was aware of how much preparation and focused arcane magic it took for a Lich to ensnare their own soul in a box. Malygos had ranted for _days_ the first time someone had done it.

That left him in an awkward spot with regard to that plan, but a second take on it occurred as he looked at the nearby village. Switching back to his preferred dragon self, he walked to the crest of the hill overlooking the hopefully terrified village, and put on his loudest tone.

"HUMANS! I DEMAND SACRIFICE! IF YOU DO NOT WANT TO BURN LIKE THE REST OF CREATION, THEN SUPPLY ME WITH SOULS!"

He accentuated the little demand with a few small magma flows and blackened sky for effect. Panic was a useful way to get things moving. And perhaps a few thousand humans together would be able to think of an option he hadn't. Humans did a lot of stupid things, but sometimes they found the odd solution amongst the endless stream of incomprehensibly useless creations.

Well, there was some audible screaming down there, so something was happening at least.

He waited, deciding how much time to give them before cranking up the magma and ash as a bit of an incentive to keep going. Humans could be either incredibly quick or slow when doing something vital, and without rhyme or reason to it. He had patience, of course. Perhaps he'd stay here until he felt a bit drowsy, and then burn them all for safety, take a nap, and try another village? Or maybe a city or town would do better?

It took them fourteen hours to send someone outside. A man, unexceptional and alone. He even had a knife.

"So, you are a sacrifice?" He looked down at the tiny figure.

He looked up, silent. "..."

"Speak."

"Yes..." Breathing quickly. Sweating. Shaking. The fear... even through his scorched senses, he could smell fear like this.

It made no impression. "Then forfeit your soul to me."

"If I do, will you spare us?" He managed to ask, shaky as he was. "I have a family. I have to do everything I can to protect them. I have to... I will die for them."

"If it works, yes." Deathwing said offhandedly. The worth of such words could be considered based on his mood later. Assuming he had one.

The man raised the knife. "Please, please, please..." He positioned it over his chest. "Will it work?"

"Try. Find out, in your last moments." Deathwing responded. "You won't have long to regret a failure if it flits off to an afterlife somewhere. Just get on with it, I have a timer to work against."

The man grimaced, and shoved the knife down, between two ribs. Deathwing watched as blood started to trickle from his lips, wondering just how humans could be successful if THAT was all it took to kill one. And he overheard whispers from the man growing increasingly garbled and choked by the blood- a simple repetition.

'Please. Please. Please. Please. Please.'

The words were uttered in a way completely different to the whispers that had plagued him for eons. The Old Gods whispered harsh truths of his shortcomings, easy solutions to his hardest choices... this was a simple hope. Truly, begging for one selfless wish.

He watched until it stopped. He waited a minute to make sure. The death was unexceptional, and the man was now nothing but a corpse. He did a few other basic checks. His memories? Dull and meaningless. His desires? To gain a soul. The amount he cared about this village and everyone in it? Zero.

So, humanity had failed. Might as well burn the survivors, in case they came back to bother him.

He started gathering energy to incinerate them. It wouldn't take more than a few moments.

"Hey, don't do that."

He looked to his side. The same bronze dragon from before- the scrawniness was unmistakable.

"Trust me. Burning down that place might seem like nothing, and you probably WILL regret it later, but if you go and actually destroy this place, your goal becomes totally impossible!" She said quickly, as the land the village was built on started to dry out and blister.

Deathwing stopping actively feeding it power, and regarded her with more attention. "...No more games. Tell me exactly why this village is of any consequence to me."

The bronze dragon flustered for a second. "W-well, it's not so much the village as the Alliance! The Alliance are already after you, but this village is- well, I shouldn't let anyone know this, but this village is REALLY tactically important to them! If you burn it down then the Horde try and invade, BUT!

"That actually backfires massively and they totally wipe the Horde out because Alterac is full of chokepoints for mortals who can't fly, and without the Horde distracting them then the Alliance really does manage to stop you!" She stopped, and took a deep breath. "Uh, you get all that?"

Deathwing was silent for a second. "Explain something."

"Y-yes?"

"You claim you know that they stop me." Deathwing said, turning to face her directly. "That tells me one thing I care about. You know how I succeed- more importantly... You must know how."

"Okay, okay, well If I tell you what happens it won't happen. You know?" She offered.

He was silent again. But this time, concealed by armour plates, he was tensing, gathering molten power...

"Liar." He slapped the floor once with his tail and invoked mastery over rocks and flames, several spikes of obsidian shooting through the ground and imprisoning his target, while the ground below her started to glow red-hot, threatening to burst with lava.

"N-no, I REALLY can't tell you!" She clung to the top of the rocky cage and pulled herself up as lava bubbled through the floor, heat alone enough to kill one of the mortals. "Don't! DON'T!"

"Time is limited. Even for a Bronze Dragon." Deathwing warned. "Try to time-travel and I will evoporate you."

"I- I can give you a hint!" She shouted. "A pointer!" A few flecks of lava spat up and landed on her lower half, and she shrieked and slipped, a few seconds from falling. "I'LL TELL YOU ALL I CAN!"

Deathwing stamped, and the cage crumbled into rocks, many of them falling onto her, pressing her down. But at the same time he cut the power to the lava, and as she hit the red-hot rock... she wasn't killed. It seared her, he could tell from here. It might actually kill her from her injuries shortly, she wasn't exactly a dragon of sturdy constitution. "Talk."

"Go to King's..." She coughed and clawed at a rock on her chest. Deathwing obliged to move it, placing it onto her wingbone. She gasped for breath. "King's Crest... You have to care for them..! That's the way... They need to be cared for... that will... heal you..." She put a hand on her chest, and a few ribs could be seen to move.

Deathwing narrowed his eyes, mulling it over. He couldn't trust her, wouldn't trust her. But it was an avenue not explored. "Where?"

"Fly... towards the sunrise. It is... a place for dragons..." Oh, that was blood coming from the side of her mouth. Definitely dead. "Use... little... force... as... p... possible..." Chromie slumped.

He crouched, and took off at speed, away from the setting sun.

She could feel a fading consciousness, and her thoughts whirled to get one last spell through.

* * *

Orphea read the daily reports, as she came out of her training session. The Dark Nexus operations were under control for the moment, but... well, any disturbances could change that.

The more immediate problem was that the Alliance reported Deathwing had caused a village to burn down by heating the rocks it was built on, and the exodus of survivors was placing a massive strain on villages that were already strained for resources after they managed to destroy the Horde's presence in the Nexus. On top of that...

A death report. For one of the heroes under her employ.

It was secondhand, from the village. They all said that a Bronze Dragon appeared and was turned into sandstone by Deathwing, but something that the smaller dragon said caused him to leave them alive.

There was only one Bronze Dragon in the Nexus at the moment.

Orphea folded the letter and sighed. "How do I tell Alexstrasza?"

Qhira looked at her with a quiet judgement. "Quickly. And professionally."

Orphea put a poised hand on her forehead, feeling the smallest of headaches coming on. "The problem is that I don't..." She walked over and locked the door. "Okay, I need to voice my thoughts. You won't tell, given that I'm currently paying for the continued existence of your people?"

"Never." Qhira said shortly.

"I'm in a dilemma." Orphea paced. "The report expressly states that Chromie was turned into sandstone. Now maybe she is dead- Deathwing has obliterated places larger than I can even tell the public- but I've seen her turn into sandstone before. She does it when she freezes her personal time to become completely invulnerable. You know, because nothing can physically happen without the flow of time moving things forwards. So there's a fifty-fifty chance she's alive."

"The problem?" Asked the mercenary.

"The problem is that confirming this and bringing her safely out of stasis if so will take Alexstrasza off me for about two days. Which in itself is acceptable- If I let us be totally dependent on her I'd be setting up a disaster. But right now she's both helping me grow an emergency supply of crops for my army, and also meditating to read Deathwing's position. If he disappears from her sight it'll make it really, really hard to find him again before he burns down another village, which is what I'm trying to avoid."

"...I see." Qhira said simply. "Well Orphea, I think you have the wrong approach. The answer is clear to me."

"Oh?" She looked over in surprise.

"She's going to find out anyway. That report may be private, but despite her titles, pride and self-confidence she is the most social and caring dragon there is." Qhira said with her normal confident yet serious tone. "That means that she is going to either A, learn of this by talking to the soldiers of the Alliance. B, notice that Chromie isn't calling in on meetings that it should be literally impossible for her to miss as a time-traveller, or C, read the life energies of her allies out of her own care, and find her dead or injured." She sat there with legs crossed. "You don't get to decide if she knows. Only when and on what terms."

"...She has the right to know anyhow, I suppose." Orphea said resignedly. "I suppose I ought to have a heart myself. And it would be far worse if I lost her support permanently... I only hope we can find Deathwing again in time to try and evacuate anything else in his path."

Qhira smiled just a touch. "Glad to work with someone reasonable. Is there anything else to talk about? Paying me enough to go up against that Dragon covers any services I can offer."

"Not right now. But if you could stay available, I'll have your deployment ready as soon as I've seen Alexstrasza's reaction to this."


	6. The Emissary

As he flew, he considered his approach to this task. To take care of King's Crest...

The land he could see approaching him seemed starkly different to Alterac, the divide between snow and grass so sharp as to be almost cartoonish. But it was a simple matter of altitude and air currents. Even a whelp fresh out of the shell would understand it with minimal confusion, no matter how the dullard mortals gaped at it.

So, his goals. Those should be set before approaching.

One, take care of this place. How incredibly subjective- this kind of phrasing was why you couldn't trust people. Regardless, by best guess that would be making sure they were a strong, organised force that would endure the challenges of the years and crush any opposition underfoot.

Two, do so with minimal force. So as few killings as possible... an annoying limitation considering his talent for mass destruction, but the odd death was thankfully permitted.

Three, do it quickly. As fast as possible. Tyrande had made her point, and he could at least believe that gouging a chunk out of something would shorten its' lifespan. Even if the purpose of a soul was inconsistent.

A plan started to take shape in his mind. One of past experiences, manipulations, murders and practical solutions, and what he knew was the greatest game humanity had to offer, with a crown for the reigning champion.

Politics scared people for a reason.

Step one would be to see what kind of situation they were in. He went into a dive in the air, and started to fold his form to human. There were a few places he'd need to check before he started to plot.

* * *

A tavern talked in muted, resentful tones. It was stuffed with peasants, and a fair number of sellswords and even a handful of merchants. And one James Davis sat among those mercenaries, sipping a warm beer and never saying a word. If you were to look at his eyes, though... You'd have seen an uncanny emptiness that nobody could quite replicate.

The government hadn't done anything useful in months. Completely paralyzed, with half killed and the other half struggling for power without the guts to actually take any risks for it. So many of the surrounding towns were being pressed for the resources and services and men they always provided the country, but now without any of the services or repayment they needed.

The main thing keeping the people from outright revolution was the fact that the rest of the Nexus was known for conquest, and that the initial round of deaths in the government that caused this was in fact a foreign attack. So fear had them, quite rightfully, hesitant.

But otherwise of note... They worshipped dragons. They whispered of Alterac burning with fear as more than a tragedy, but as an omen. They treated them with immense respect and significance, and considered it a religious duty to reject the ones they deemed evil and accept the ones deemed good.

But all the ones they deemed good had disappeared, only a week after the queen and ministers were killed. About what he expected from Alexstrasza, but so many others, all at once... It was suspicious. Regardless, mortals were fickle. Good and evil was determined by usefulness. It was an advantage, but not everything he needed to gain the control it would take to succeed.

* * *

In a neighboring town, the barracks burned down one night. A few people were injured controlling the blaze, and a few documents related to the town workings were lost, as well as some uniforms. After the blaze, a broken oil lamp was found on the floor and blamed, but a truly observant

Nobody saw a man vanish into the night with uniforms and documents.

And nobody at the neighboring town questioned a messenger who requested some copies of the laws of the land, a summary of who answered to who, and the basic guide to being a leader in a town.

'James Davis' spent a full night studying the books and records he'd gathered in three days, understanding this was a nation run by a kind of religious feudalism. The church or crown gave the faithful land and titles, and worked together so closely as to be inseparable- indeed, the king was more often than not the head of church.

Regardless, he planned. He evaluated methods of approach. He looked at whether he was better off joining the system or overthrowing it, and how best to do either. He could bring up precious metals and gems from the earth to try and move through a merchant approach and get an economical foothold. Or he could appear as a man blessed by a dragon, and try to become favored by the church. Joining the governance directly would be a stupid approach, nobles had been born into power for generations thanks to inheritance, and moving up by their whims would be almost impossible- he might be able to marry into noble blood if he was successful elsewhere though, for more influence. Or failing all that, he was the key to a revolution- these peasants didn't fear their tattered government. They feared the rest of the world. A world he could easily crush any opportunistic invasions from.

He wasn't sure how things would play out. But he had a good idea of where to start... After his bi-weekly sleep.

* * *

The grey stone stretched out forever, as before. But now there was nobody there apart from an unassuming human.

A form he actually felt like he would have truly hated in days past. He recalled dipping into this race only as needed, and even then doing all he could to show his roots- skin hot as magma, a great cleaver most men couldn't lift, ashy skin and his signature jaw armor...

But in times before that...

It was a disjointed memory in the dream, parts wobbling, running and refracting like water. But he remembered glimpses of finer clothes, goblets, banquets and conferences, laughing both in genuine amusement and at the stupidity of the people he tricked. Daval Prestor.

Such a guise would have to be discarded. If Alexstrasza was here, then Varian or Terenas might rear their inferior heads and recognize him.

James Davis sat down in the dream and started to meditate on his human appearance and traits. On what kind of man he would be. Strong, Ambitious, and Charismatic on one hand, but Insightful, Mindful, and Skilled on the other. The kind of person that the fools and rabble that most of this race were made of would be charmed by, and the rare smart individuals both terrified and respectful of in equal measure.

Success at the role would need him to act. To display emotions to convincingly, but not to the point he'd cripple his own plans.

A wave of something cold passed over him. This was a pointless quest. Nothing had worked so far, so why should this be any different? Why bother trying? Why bother waking up at all?

He became aware of a few loose bits of the grey stone slab crumbling. Eroding.

But he woke up nonetheless.

This time.

* * *

After two more days in preparation, he made his move. One James Davies rode into the town of Stonefall on horseback. This was a place on the verge of collapse. Shamefully weak, their crops were in the process of utterly failing while bandits nipped at their heels, the governing noble's power faded, and the government was too hamstrung to do a thing about it.

He made his way to the centre of town, where there was a statue. A dragon, of course. Whomever had founded this country at least had some modicum of taste. And it would form the basis for his takeover.

He made his way up to the statue, and knelt, starting to channel energy into the statue carefully, heating up the rocks. Soon, the eyes and some ridges of the scales were glowing with heat, and his plan was in motion. He stayed absolutely still, and waited.

An hour passed. People took notice of the statue. And of him.

"Hey, who are you?"

"The statue... What's he doing?"

"Hey, guys, look at this!"

He didn't respond at first, hoping a crowd would gather. It started to, and he moved into the next part of his plans. He stood up, keeping his hands folded the traditional way humans did with a prayer. And he spoke.

"Bring me your Reeve." The sound seemed to boom and rumble with the force of an earthquake, even though the words were spoken normally.

There was a ripple of uncertainty through the crowd. A reeve was the selected agent of a village's governing noble, the one in charge of day-to-day operations. Someone expected to solve a lot of the smaller problems that beset this place, and petition for aid for the larger ones. Right now, he was the chief authority figure in the village, and the focal point of all their disappointment and resentment for the events outside their control.

He waited, head bowed, for half an hour. Footsteps could be heard behind him.

"...Hello? Stranger, who are you? I... I am Reeve Sardon, agent of the kingdom."

Deathwing- no, James- finally stood straight, turned around, and crossed his arms. "And I am the chosen emissary of the Great Dragon. Events here have gotten out of control- Your village has strong-willed people, but is beset by struggle after struggle, and now you are in need of outside aid. Do you, as the spokesperson for this town, deny this?" He looked at the reeve carefully, noting a hint of sweat break out.

But the man stood straight. "I do not."

He nodded. "Then on behalf of the Great Dragon, I will strike a deal with your people. Your fields are failing. Your trader are prey. And while you beg for aid, it is soundly ignored. I will offer this once, and allow you and your people to come to a conclusion amongst yourselves before night falls." He took a steady breath. "I will invoke the powers vested in me by the Great Dragon to eliminate these problems. That poses no challenge to me. My problem is that your country has fallen into the control of useless leaders, who lack the strength to ever court the favor of dragons. I cannot change THAT with a snap of my fingers- and if I could, it would earn me only terrified enemies.

"To fix this country, I need followers. If you are willing to submit to his rule, then as the emissary of the Great Dragon, I will become your new leader- you will follow my commands, and I will solve your problems and guide you to success- as a leader should." As he spoke, he let the glow on the statue fade, and let the magmatic light shine in his eyes. "This is a major decision. And turning against your former masters will have some element of danger once they learn of this. However, I swear that the Great Dragon will lead you better than them- he will build you all a better world. And as a show of good faith..."

He raised a hand, and snapped his fingers. The paving stone in front of him cracked, and spat out a circular obsidian token, which James caught.

"This stone contains powerful earth magic, that can be shaped as needed. It will run out after a use, but it will revitalise one field of crops."

A calculated risk. An offer enough to make these hungry people swing in his favor, without giving them better arms or enough food to truly become independent of him.

The reeve looked awed, as James held out the token.

"Once you have made your decision, return. There is no time to spare wasting away under the leadership of such pathetic fools- you know that, considering you do all their work."

* * *

**King's Crest, capital.**

Delia looked at the city. Unharmed even while her castle had been seiged. It seemed fine, but... As she rode in, she could see it. They hadn't been spared. This was once a place of life, maybe not a paradise but somewhere she was proud to represent. Now...

Beggars on some corners looked up at her, and recognition and unbridled hate crossed the face of each and every one. She saw theives and thugs chase and harass people on the streets. She drew her lance, and ran towards the nearest, a stick-thin man wrestling a loaf of bread from a haggard woman. "Cease!"

They looked up and fled, leaving behind a woman. Her head was bleeding.

Delia dismounted, and the man had already vanished into the backstreets. She went to check on the woman, and saw the injuries. "Ma'am, are you okay? Hold on, I'll... I'll..." The realisation she didn't know any healing magic hit her hard. She didn't even know basic medicine.

The woman slowly focused her eyes on Delia. "...Oh... You..." She choked. "Go to... go to hell..."

Delia froze in shock, as the person coughed. "I- What's happened here, while I was gone?!"

The woman took a shaky breath. "You... you stole away our armies. Our police. Even our relief was pulled back, because you said Ravencourt needed it more.., The dragons followed you. The nobles you left to rule us... Useless... You abandoned us all... You... stupid bitch..." She coughed again, and there was blood. "A pox on you, spoilt princess! I hope your family are turning in their graves!"

Delia couldn't say anything. It was true. And coming from some unknown dying stranger on the roadside. She hadn't even reached the nobles she needed to start parleying with, and she felt like the choices she'd made were already catching up to her, like she'd never made a good decision in her life. her heart felt like it was ice, shattering into spikes and ripping apart her lungs.

She stood up, and hoped she would at least manage to get the message across before the full consequences of what she'd done caught up with her.


	7. The Plan

James Davis sat at a desk.

Doing paperwork.

Even if he was posing as a borderline messiah with himself as the deity, taking over a town meant paperwork. He had to understand what he was working with and he had to understand what he had at his disposal in terms of troops. He couldn't just go into dragon form and incinerate everyone who opposed him en masse, because A, that would terrify the idiots he had to take care of, possibly completely dooming him, and B, it would unite absolutely everyone else against him.

Learned that lesson the hard way... Four other aspects at once could even overcome him. Unless he was using Old God power. Which he had decided it was best to never touch again. What was the point going to all this tedious effort to save his own life if he was going to throw it away?

He had found however that if there was one thing being soulless actually HELPED with, it was this. When boredom and an inability to feel anything apart from it was the norm, every waking moment a struggle to keep hold of the will to live...

Well, this wasn't actually any different. Read meaningless document with about one sentence worth of useful information. Process information. Write response (which by the way is suggesting an action anyone with two braincells to rub together could come up with), and move on. All while tracking the general state of affairs.

Crops were coming along. He was no Alexstrasza, but energy was energy and if you shoved it into a living thing then stuff happened. The fact a few people were apparently reporting strong, almost hellish fevers after eating such crops was unimportant- the masses were fine and the problem wasn't getting worse, so he could focus on other things.

For example, how best to stage a takeover of the neighboring villages. The Messiah approach wouldn't work as well since they were under semi-functional leadership and not suffering crises that would have needed aid from the government. Conquest was... well, he wasn't capable of pride. He knew he was better than all of them, but he wasn't going to think he had the slightest idea how to handle tactics and wartime strategy for humans. They couldn't even fly. Best keep that off the table until he had a pawn who knew how to handle that.

* * *

"I've called you both here to discuss our next move." James looked at the other two people in the room. The former reeve, and the captain of the town guards. "We need to organise a takeover of the surrounding areas quickly if we want to avoid causing unnecessary damage."

"Damage?" Asked the reeve.

"Nobody willingly gives up power." James stated, with all the certainty in the world. "Especially not people with as much power as a government, that will often play against the rules to stay on top. If we give them a chance, then they will drag this nation down with them and I will have failed."

"..." The captain of the local guards folded his arms. "You make a fair point, but I'm just a soldier. I fight, and sometimes tell other people how to fight. I don't know a damn thing about properly taking places over, even by force."

"I have a few options, thanks to the power of the Great Dragon. His mastery over the rocks and stones mean I can amass any treasure held within the earth, and so too can I create intense amounts of energy. My first concept would be an economical takeover... If I were to create a strong trade empire then the money and influence should give me leverage. My second plan is somewhat more drastic, but I could attempt to assassinate a member of the failing government, and assume their authority."

"That's a little harsh, isn't it?" Asked the reeve. "I think they need to step down too, but killing them?"

"One life for many. It makes sense to me." James said impassively. "They certainly do not come under my protection the way my fellow followers of the Great Dragon do."

"...What about starting a cult?" The captain proposed. "One with, I don't know, some kind of official front like a guild?"

"A cult?"

"I mean, a cult operates outside the law more often than not. And it's pretty rare they do the whole robes-in-a-dark-room-chanting thing, it's normally just a bunch of people with a strong opinion or dedication they don't want others to ind out. If you started up a guild in one town that handles... I dunno, a courier service or something, and use it as an excuse to send your loyal folks everywhere without raising suspicion, they can spread word of your cult and get people to join behind the scenes, right?" The captain perked up a bit. "Right?"

"Hmm. Staying undetected could be a useful way to avoid inciting a counterattack... And if our cult were to provide a positive influence nationwide, then it would greatly weaken any attempts to demonize us." Mused James. "Very well. I shall decree us... The Ashen Dragonflight. Now, to the details. We have to find a suitable property in the capital to run the front from, and a business that gives us reasonable cover. And we will require..." He stopped. _Loyal agents. _Well, that was a problem. Humans were unreliable at best.

No, he could just devise some kind of loyalty spell, breaking minds was easy. Onyxia could do it in her sleep, and she didn't get that power from Sintharia. He'd make sure none of his agents spread word of the cult to the authorities... or breached its' secrets to any rivals.

He recomposed himself. "Do either of you know what goes into setting up a guild? How much funding will we need, and who will have authority over us?"

The reeve put a hand up. "I can help. I can run a place as long as the people above me are doing their work."

"Very well then. As of now, you will be the guild's most important member, directly answerable to me. As someone with a better idea of what is needed here... What should our guild deal in?"

* * *

Gathering up some people willing to leave the town and found a guild in the city was surprisingly easy. Many said things about repayment of debts, thankfulness, or even expressed faith.

The compliments didn't reach him, just like any insults, but he did experience a strange confusion at the whole matter, even as his face stayed stony. The whole scene somehow felt... wrong.

"Once I leave, I will expect you to upkeep your devotion to the Great Dragon. It is only through him that you will find success." The words came easily. And these people, the ones who had been ensnared by the worst of fortunes, would hang onto them dearly.

Now for the next step, to repeat this indebting process for everyone possible while staying out of the suspicions of those who wanted to hang onto their power. James felt he had a good grasp of the world. When you looked at it all, it was really as simple as a stone falling down a mountain. A natural progression of events. Perhaps not entirely possible to predict, but in a large scale...

Set up business. Force business to succeed. Use as tool for personal success. Simple.

He got into the front of the cart that was taking his more loyal followers to the city, checked he had the money, and began his second venture into the politics of humanity.

* * *

Qhira had a personal vehicle, something of a rarity in the Nexus. Building roads that were more than simple tracks was a colossal waste of time and precious resources because the landscape was often subjected to skirmishes between cosmic powers, or entire regions could be plucked from across time and space and dropped right onto your new tarmac. To say nothing of how easily a lot of things like cars or tyres could be destroyed, as well as the factories and facilities needed to maintain them.

Her Orochi Hoverbike's fuel counter had been stuck twenty degrees below empty for what seemed like a lifetime. Yet the engines still managed to lift it from the ground on a cushion of air and propel it forwards, powered by the last fragment of the past.

Part of her was aware that was a metaphor for her personal situation. The other part was disgusted that she'd consider being attached to a vehicle that could be destroyed in the blink of an eye. It did its' job reliably, and would do so until broken. That was all that mattered... and she fought with herself to keep it that way.

Her earpiece started buzzing. "Answer." Hopefully the wind wouldn't interfere with the voice control.

There was a crackle. "Delia here. I... have a problem."

"I'm already en route. Orphea isn't going to send one person to deal with a major problem."

There was a pause. "When you get into the city, lay low and get to the Ivory Goat inn. Things have fallen apart badly here. The government are after my head."

"...That bad?"

"I'm both responsible for their current situation, and the sole obstacle to their complete political dominance. Since a fair number of people really liked my parents." Delia said. "I'm... well, I don't have a clue where Deathwing is and if he's pulling strings to be another reason I had to flee from the entire guard forces of my... former... capital, or if he's biding his time for something, or anything. We'll discuss it when you find the inn. They have plenty of mercenaries here who aren't associated with guilds or corporations, so you can say you're on business and nobody will blink. Just don't flash any money."

"Understood. You get rid of anything that can identify you and lay low. If it might be useful later don't throw it out. If you can get hair dye, get some." Qhira said quickly and clearly. "My ETA is two days. Alexstrasza will heal Chromie and they'll catch up to us in three days. Orphea's pulled strings and we can use the Alliance embassy, as well as their troops. If Varian or any of the Alliance command turn up I'll make sure they don't draw attention to you. Anything else I need to know before arriving?"

"...We don't have anywhere to store your bike specially, but it should fit in a horse stable and they have guards in most places."

"Thank you. Qhira out."


	8. Advice

The Davis high-speed couriers and security guild. Recently set up in the capital city of King's Crest in the short space of two days.

There were a lot of vacant properties, what with the multiple ongoing crises. Buying one, even a decently sized one, was barely a dent in the funds 'James' had brought along. Redecorating wasn't something he could see the point in- they were effectively a mercenary company with an implied moral and competency standard, what did it matter if his clients were met in a plain room or one with chairs and wallpaper, so long as it kept up the illusion of a guild?

But he was smart enough to understand that humans would know their own tastes. And he'd demolished all the outstanding paperwork Reeve had compiled for him in a matter of hours. A three-day sleep cycle had some serious perks. Now they were just in the process of developing skills in his warriors, structuring his cult, and, annoyingly enough, educating about half his employees in the art of reading. It was an unwelcome delay, but in retrospect he supposed they spent all their time just trying to stay alive and pay for things he could not only take for granted, but also grant to others, like coal and metal.

The door to his office rattled. There was no guard posted, he had to optimise his time efficiency and if an assassin _could_ kill him, then frankly they deserved it. "Enter."

Reeve opened the door. James didn't know Reeve's first name, but he didn't need to. As long as the man did his job. "There's a lot of delivery work coming up." He said as he came into the room. "The general state of the country is... well, some services are intact, others are falling apart completely."

"Tell me anything you think is relevant. Nothing more." The standard order.

"Mail, policing, and government medical services are down, none of the surviving council picked them up- either they couldn't or doing so would have cost them too much to stay in the higher levels of society." Reeve spat. "The banks, agriculture, and infrastructure is still being upkept, but soon those other failing services are going to hit them."

James nodded, mapping it all out in his mind. "Mail and police are easy for us to handle. Medical... Tell me your opinion- do you think we can successfully start a medical branch at this point? Wherever the existing leaders fail, it is the sworn duty of The Ashen Dragonflight to usurp."

Reeve put a hand on his chin. "...We couldn't start any dedicated attempts at medicine right now. We'd need to buy more properties and hire experts, which cost enough that the government may realise that our money isn't from any registered operations..."

"Ah, yes. Taxes." James grumbled. "Whomever works out how we can slip them entirely will be handsomely rewarded."

"Noted. Now, we have our first batch of jobs. As a new guild then it would normally be difficult to find work, but since the normal providers have failed..." He pulled a small paper note from his pocket. "The highest profile job is to this country's port city. Apparently there's been no contact for a few days, and a trade company needs a new part for one of their ships delivered in a rush. It's worth everything to them."

"Excellent. We can use this opportunity to start making connections. I will take care of this personally- we should always guarantee the success of our largest projects." James rose from his desk. "We should aim for the fastest completion possible. I'll gather some of our more loyal followers, and set out as soon as I understand the task. Can you handle daily operations while I'm gone?"

"...Yes."

James was on the verge of confirming that and marching out of the room, and he hesitated. Reeve was about to be placed into a position of power. One from which he could easily ruin his progress thus far. The man was skilled, but he was just a human. A single, mortal, human. Not even one of their prodigies. Trusting him... at every point he could recall, all the memories he used to make his decisions... he'd never have let the man run unsupervised. Never.

Subtly, he wove a spell. A simple one, he was no dedicated sorcerer. But he placed a bug in the corner of the room, a simple sensor to hear and see through. Trust needn't be relevant.

"Then I shall be back shortly."

* * *

If he'd used the full extent of his power, then Deathwing could have picked up this strange replacement part- some kind of rubbery cable- and then either flown or traveled through the rocks to reach the port within the day. As it was, it was three days out by wagon.

He had a contingent of men, but they were there only as needed. He kept watch, tracked the timings for navigation, made sure that the horses kept the exact fastest speed they could maintain for a full day, and upheld order.

The others seemed very hesitant to even approach him after he very clearly told one of them that he absolutely would not stop the cart because they forgot to use the toilet.

He preferred it when they kept a distance. Less time wasted.

It was near the end of the second day that he stopped the cart for any reason outside a designated break. He was approaching a thick little grove of trees that the roadway ran through, bending erratically. Normally, nothing but a slight inconveniece.

However, the stones and dirt were on his side. They told him of blood hitting them over and over, his connection to the land spoke of corpses hasily buried in shallow graves, of the presence of the unnatural works of man, lying in wait around that innocuous corner.

None of his incarnations would have simply ignored it. Neltharion would have ousted them, killed the bandits for the transgressions and been done with it. Daval Prestor would have taken their heads and mounted them on pikes with a flourish to win favor. Deathwing would have scorched the earth and laughed at just how feeble an attempt on his life it was.

James Davies, Leader of the Guild, simply identified a threat to business, and stopped the cart. "Men one through five, stay here and hold guard. Six through ten, follow me at a distance. It is time I showed what the Ashen Dragonflight does to those who gnaw at the heels of the kingdom."

He did not carry a weapon. He did not wear armour. He got out of the cart, wearing a cloak around his shoulders, and walked into the clearing. "In the name of the Great Dragon... You shall pay for your actions."

Five crossbow bolts were shot from his right, without any care towards aim, ripping through the cloak and hitting the clothing and flesh beneath. They fell to the floor with splintered tips, having completely failed to pierce dragon scale masquerading as human skin.

James turned calmly and purposefully towards the ambush point, a thicket with a few men behind it. And he started walking forwards. He reached the edge of the thicket and threw the cloak off, if only to stop it getting completely ruined. He marched through the brambles completely heedless of the thorns or the fact that of the five men, two had pulled out knives, two had swords, and one had a spear.

Spear bandit tried to stab him. He caught the head of the spear in one hand, yanked it forwards and fluidly grabbed the man's neck before crushing it and dropping the corpse, as easily as someone might pick a flower.

He broke through the bushes and the stupidest one came at him with a knife like they didn't see what happened to the previous person. He threw a haymaker and removed their head from their shoulders by blunt force alone.

The other three were smart enough to try and run, only for spikes of rock to jut from the ground without warning and neatly impale each one. Simple, and quick.

"...Holy..."

James looked back to see some rightfully stunned humans. If they were stopped in awe or terror, it didn't matter. It was a display of strength to give them more reason to be loyal. "I sense more nearby. It'll be more efficient to kill them now than risk another delay on the return trip." He willed the stones to retract, and looked in the direction he sensed more life. "Come."

He went through the trees and came out in a clearing. There were a few wooden shelters, made from destroyed wagons and bound together with rope. Another five or so humans looked at him in a mixture of fear and curiosity, not having seen his short execution of their fellows.

"Are you with them?"

One of them hesitantly grabbed a woodcutting axe and made to point it at the newcomer, with timing so that just as James' men arrived behind him they saw him stamp the floor once, and set everything on fire.

He easily slaughtered the ones not killed in the initial blast, barely even thinking as he took them down. The five noncombatant bandits were hardly recognisible as fire started to consume them, when he heard something. A cry. Specifically, the cry of another human, inside one of the ramshackle covers.

He walked through the dying flames, and into the hut. A baby was on the side. He gathered power in one hand, and-

"Woah! Stop!" One of his men had followed him in, through the fire. His clothes had singed, and he pressed forwards anyway.

He paused. That was an unusual decision, a human knowingly walking into his fires. Was there a misunderstanding? "It's one of theirs."

"It... it's a baby. Surely you don't mean to kill a baby, are you mad!? It hasn't done anything wrong!"

James grit his teeth. Deathwing had been very careful about making sure his targets had no next of kin to trouble him. In the rare event they were left alive it was only to try and bait more foes into danger. Daval had simply left orders and been detached. But an old, old memory resurfaced then... "...I forgot myself." He snapped his fingers, and the flames ceased.

The past was hazy, and that was so long ago... but he remembered. He remembered small blue scales, a lost child from Malygos after a meeting... Even in his early madness and suspicion, he'd never have considered...

He cursed himself for forgetting that was how he should have acted. And then questioned himself for what to do next. "Power is an overwhelming thing, not always meant for mortals. Rage and anger, no matter the origin, lead to mistakes. That was wrong of me, and I hope you do not hold it against me." A truth smothered in deception, as many of his words were. "...What should we do with the child?"

* * *

They reached the port town only half an hour behind schedule. Even with a perpetually crying child irritating his men a little, he was sure he'd averted a schism. And apparently humanity had organisations specifically for caring for helpless children. A novel idea, even if they seemed blind to the fact that independence was a trait to be encouraged.

His thoughts turned however, to Man 8. The one willing to walk over lava for what he thought was correct. That action... perhaps logic told him that there was a child in danger. Perhaps logic told him that he had to act fast. But logic would tell anyone not to stand in lava. The only other explanation was that he had what James was seeking. A strong soul. The capacity to feel in ways that nerves did not.

"Eight." He intoned. "I need to discuss something with you." His mind raced, putting together words that would work from all the past speeches he'd heard. To him, meaningless. To the man... hopefully, it would mean everything.

Man 8 looked at him in surprise from the seat in the wagon next to him. "S-sir?"

"You did something incredibly brave earlier. I need people who are willing to be strong in the way you were. If you wish, then I will grant you a new position for your strong ethics."

The man swallowed. "I... I only did what was right." He paused for a second. "But... I was the only one who did it. Okay, I'll do it! ...What did you have in mind?" He paled, and Deathwing noted that if he'd been attempting to trap the man in a shoddy deal then he'd have had a very easy time of it.

"I want you to oversee the... morality... of our guild. If we are to succeed at our task, then we must be better than our rivals in every way. We must be those that the commonfolk will support. You are willing to walk through fire for that sake. I know that you will not be intimidated by your peers."

"Right. Right!" The man nodded. "So... do I get a title? A place in the cult?"

"...You may choose a title that reflects your station, within reason." A neat way to avoid thinking of one himself.

The man fell silent. "...I'll be the man who makes sure we do things right by the normal folk... So call me... hmm."

"You may simply copy a rank from my system of old. One of your station would have been an Advisor to the one leading."

"Advisor Edward Grannvale..." The man, now known as Edward, mused. "I like that! Say, I think that's the first I've ever heard you mention your past outside being the priest of The Great Dragon. We should talk a bit more, perhaps everyone will get to like you? Maybe we could go drinking in that bar opposite the guild sometime?"

James wasn't oblivious to the looks of mild to moderate fear and interest everyone else in the wagon was showing. This seemed like a dire waste of time... but no, this man had proven himself an emotional creature. It would be wise to accomodate, and see what he could learn. "Only when there is spare time to be used on my part. I will let you know when I've cleared out all our outstanding work."

* * *

**The Bar Opposite the Guild**

Three tall, athletic women huddled over a table in the corner, each of them draped in concealing clothes. Nobody could have idenitified them as anyone so long as they didn't make eye contact (or question the slight shimmer of illusion magic around one of the hoods, where it hid four large horns).

"So... what's the situation with Chromie?" Whispered the one trying as hard as possible not to be suspicious, pretending to play some kind of card game.

"I managed to pull her back from the brink, but she's in no state to do anything, and won't be for a while. Many of her wounds had magical flames burning inside, and she'll need to let herself heal extensively. If I'd waved away those wounds, then I'd have caused enough of a magical disturbance to destroy the very village she protected." Replied Alex.

"Are there any other reinforcements available?" Said the direct one.

"I left the rest of the flight to shore up Orphea's farming with magic. If that fails, then the results will be almost as devastating as Deathwing rampaging. I have enough money to pay for a small army, however."

"Hm. A resource, but we need trustworthy allies." Qhira summarised. "If the target is tipped off, then they'll be much harder to catch off guard."

"I... I still have a few loyalists in the royal guards. They turned a blind eye when I had to flee from my old castle." Delia added. "If they think it'll help me get into power, then... they might help us."

"My name holds some meaning here too." Whispered Alexstrasza. "Not much, after I chose to help seal the Dark Nexus over guaranteeing their immediate safety. But enough to get us some support."

"We'll have to hire some mercenaries, then." Qhira noted. "Beyond myself. If there are information dealers, we need one tracked down immediately, and failing that, then we will have to track down our target by collecting the intel ourselves."

"Mercenaries..." Delia shuddered. "Right. There's a new group that set up just across the street, actually. I think we should use them- the council have contacts in any of the older groups, and I'm the only one of them who was remotely concerned about Deathwing since he isn't burning down their lands... I can't be found. For my own sake."

"I'll handle that. Rule of the trade is that high-level mercenaries don't try to rip each other off. Too much reputation on the line." Qhira said. "In the meantime, you two start working out how to actually defeat the target. He took my deadlist attack as an inconvenience AFTER fighting you." She nodded to Alexstrasza. "So we'll need a solid plan. Agreed?"

"Agreed."


	9. Happenings

Two weeks had passed.

James Davies was being fitted for a formal suit and reading reports on how his plans were proceeding. To summarize: By extensively selling his new guild and dodging taxes like the plague, requests were starting to stack up. For the first time, his guild was experiencing a backlog of work. Not to say that it was much work. He'd consider it about a day's effort for a dragon worth their salt. But with human travel times and smaller convoys, then yes, this was a lot of work.

He'd have to hire more people to keep the guild running smoothly. Which meant, at least until these jobs were done and paid out, pulling up more riches from the earth and distrubuting them, whilst still not crashing the economy. Iron was at least, always in demand. He wondered if he should have gone into a smithing business. But then, he'd have less of an excuse to travel.

But those matters would have to be left to Reeve and Edward.

He looked at the measurements the tailor was taking, and the array of garments around the room. Appearance was vital to his next step on the road to control- Daval Prestor could attest to that much. He was going to attend a banquet, hosted by another guild. Many important businessmen and influential figures would attend. Normally a new guild would never manage to slip into an event like this, reserved for the families with old money or the absolute top businesses, but his cult was starting to take root in these past weeks. Notably, taking on some dirty work for a councilman that had in turn given him his link to get into this banquet AND a convenient piece of dirt on the councilman in question. Timing and presentation of the deeds would have to be impeccable to make sure they weren't traced to his cult or worse, guild, but used correctly... it could neutralise a share of that man's supporters.

His goals were simple. Attend the banquet, make connections and find some work that would make the rest of the upper class take notice. More jobs and reputation were all he ultimately needed. Though if anyone looked to be a particularly dangerous figure against his plans... well, a freak accident where they burned to death wouldn't be linked to him if he didn't stand to gain from it immediately.

* * *

He fixed his cravat one more time, and did up a thin golden chain that went from the two sides of the jacket to cross his chest, holding the lapel immaculate. Human fashion was, surprisingly, quite good from his veiwpoint. You displayed your wealth enough to make standing apparent, had enough cloth to conceal any weapons of your choosing, or even chain mail if you didn't have a skin of adamantium, and it even didn't make you a bigger target in a battle. Unless you were wearing the illogical variants.

And though he couldn't feel pride or glee, he did have a certain appreciation for the black and dark red fabrics that made up his formal suit. A subtle nod to who he was, not that he intended to make things obvious. There might be a practical application to this look if it ever came to a show of grandeur.

"Reeve, you know the drill." He went for the door. "Don't let anything get in the way of success."

"Of course, sir..." Reeve said quietly.

James walked out of the door. And as he went through his lobby he saw Qhira talking to the receptionist again.

How very fortunate that the group trying to find him had hired his own agency to do so. He hadn't even braded as a private investigator. At first he'd thought it was some elaborate ploy, because the chances they'd pick the Davis company for this over a dedicated investigative team were so low. It had to have been some kind of trap to manipulate him to somewhere they thought they would be able to kill him. But no, after having Reeve gently probe into their decision-making process and sending a few of his more talented employees to do a bit of spying, it turned out that not only were they in league with the Wanted princess of the lands, but that the government had hooks in all his rivals.

Useful information indeed, when one considered that he was looking for work that would make him prominent in the upper class. Nobody would willingly give their rulers their dirty work.

Still he did have to be very careful not to go downstairs while Alexstrasza was in to pick up his company's 'findings'. She might actually see through his magic. And that might cause some slight problems.

He was out of the door impassively and walking down the streets without a word. Walking the streets was not something anyone of importance could normally get away with, but he felt confident in humanity's general inability to kill or even inconvenience him.

A beggar saw him approach, and held out a cup. He went past without a glance. If they couldn't support themselves, then they weren't worth investing resources into. Simple logic.

Later, when he was nearing the estate the banquet was to be held on, he passed a building under construction. Why new houses were being built was a mystery, considering society was imploding at every point he wasn't carrying with his instructions, and nobody was going to have the money or lack of space to go and buy themselves land with the fact half the city was beggars and on the verge or devolving into murderers just to keep food on the table. The other half weren't that well-off either. In all honesty, prices for a lot of things might spike in a month of two.

He watched people shift bricks and set up scaffolding around the house. It was laughable technique. He'd watched night elves do better, and they didn't even build their houses sometimes. Most dwarves would have had a stroke at the way such stones were assembled. Thinking on it, even most other humans would put this to shame. The castle here and his own company's building would at least withstand a sneeze, even a little bit of fire. That... was awful, rushed construction. Anyone with a scrap of intellect would see it.

As he got closer he could see a foreman ordering the workers to go faster. A complete idiot. In fact, as James looked up, he noted the scaffold was actually not properly fixed on a corner. Once anyone hoisted materials up there, then a collapse would probably take out not just the scaffold but a good portion of the building.

He could have taken a minute to warn them. He consciously decided it would be better for his goals not to broker any delays. All he did was note that the warning sign for the building site was painted with a little logo for the King's Crest Artisanal Construction. Whomever ran the place needed to be kept as far away from any building work he had as possible. Maybe he could just train some of his employees if the need ever arose. Subtly do it himself with earth magic while they thought they were actually doing something useful.

* * *

The banquet was predictably disinteresting, but he put up a facade and went through the night with animated conversation and his most charisamatic performance, mastered by Daval- all the while fishing for weaknesses and needs in this place. There were all kinds of people here pursuing their petty ends, guildmasters looking to show off to the rich to get business, rich looking to make more money and sell whatever they made their fortune on to the guildmasters, two of the current members of the council trying to put people into their pocket and gain the ability to somehow bend the rest of the council to their whims.

He did note with some interest that there was actually a slow-acting poison in his drink after he talked with the head of the largest mercenary company in the country. It hadn't been there a minute ago. On the plus side he did know exactly who put it there.

He strode around the room, and sat down next to the man again. "Excuse me, I just realised that we've got a bit of a business opportunity." He offered, drink carefully in hand.

"Hm?" The man looked back to him, the picture of forced enjoyment.

"There's a certain contract I'm on the verge of landing, near the seat of your power in Valkaheim Town." A simple fact plucked from earlier conversations at the ball, spun to cause a flicker of worry. "However, I heard that you've managed to obtain some rather lucrative work yourself this evening. Perhaps we could head to one of the balconies? Less people to overhear us?" He said with a neutral innocence.

"...Let us." The man offered, his weathered features actually betraying a genuine curiosity.

It was simple to go through the backrooms of the building, and they came out on a small balcony overlooking the main room. Ideal for seeing where people were going... on in this case, forcing them to follow him through a narrow passage.

"The job with the diplomat?" Prompted the leader.

"And the one with the mining company." Replied James.

"You think we should swap? Mine is the objectively more important job."

"But we're both going to turn greater profits from this. We can complete these jobs with minimal investment- you already have _hundreds_ of men in Valkaheim town who can be diverted to guard the mining operations, and they have a developed branch of the company to fall back on if anyone were to learn the labour there is illegal and they need to be bailed out. In the meantime, I assure you- I have all the talent in place to protect a diplomat from that dragon said to be burning down all Alterac, let alone anything else."

Of course, the diplomat was to end up dead in a gutter due to a tragic accident once they were outside the country, that was the point of the job. To keep things quiet and make sure it looked like things were fine to an outside power. But if things were to just happen to end a little differently to how the council hoped...

Well, he felt very confident about his ability to find the perfect outcome for himself.

The mercenary leader didn't look entirely convinced. "I assure you- all I need for this job is one woman. Perhaps I can find you a different one to try and build your fortune on, hm? Still, it's good to know that Magnus is looking for more guard work."

"My offer stands till the end of the banquet." James said easily. "I think I shall remain here, and enjoy this wine. It's a good view from this balcony."

The mercenary leader turned and left without a word. Deathwing was very sure he knew what would come next, as he'd been keeping the most careful watch he could. Perhaps many people at this party had means of killing, but the only one to profit from the death of a small, budding mercenary company... would be a company that was failing to handle the changing times and needed to get some new talent.

And so he wasn't surprised when a woman from earlier came up behind him. Nor was he worried about trying to stop her attacking him- he was intentionally isolated here, a place he could be nice and easily garrotted and dragged off to a closet, never to be seen again. Yet also in a place where his own plan would work perfectly, for all people would have to do to see him was look up.

A knife was driven into the back of his neck. It broke on his skin, the blade clearly not made for piercing adamantium. Even legendary weapons would struggle to do that without aiming for a weak point. He put on his best shocked voice, and yelled "ASSASSIN!" as he spun and grabbed the wrist of the very shocked lady who'd just tried to stab him, and threw her from the balcony.

She sailed down ten metres as her heart just _incidentally_ burst into flames, and she hit the floor as the fire spread over her, reducing her- and by some careful control from James, only her- to ashes. He was very careful to make the flames dance around her heart like a stick was burning there, hoping one person here was hasty enough to make the false connection so he didn't have to.

And lo and behold, the first person to break the silence... "Was that a... a... Vampire?" Said someone. "The way it burned..."

James Davies noted with some satisfaction that the other mercenary leader's face was one that looked like it was watching an entire empire collapse. He took a napkin, put a little illusion on it to colour it with a red splotch, and pressed it stiffly to his shoulder.

And he got down from the balcony, walking out into the room carefully. "...It seems like someone was out for blood tonight..." He noted, at the people crowding the ashes on the floor. He spotted the banquet host looking reasonably troubled at the whole thing, and went up to them. "The third balcony on the left. They came at me with a knife and someone stabbed them with the wooden skewer from one of your dishes... clearly, pure chance. I'm afraid that since I've been stabbed, I'll be taking my leave of your party until the guests learn how to handle matters discreetly. Thank you for the job offers, and I hope you'll have me back if I slight you by leaving now."

He said that with what he hoped would come across as a politely annoyed tone, one that brushed off a knife as an unwelcome inconvenience rather than an attempt on life. The host looked reasonably dumbfounded at the man apparently stabbed in the shoulder acting that way, and James decided he wasn't going to waste his time waiting for him to concoct a reply to that.

He made to leave, and nodded politely to the rival owner. The one who had likely just watched his 'best' assassin go up in flames.

As he hoped, there was a rather hasty agreement to the contract swap the following morning, as his rival tried frantically to pin him down for somehow incinerating his assassin and also staving off the dozens of rumors about employing a vampire of some kind.

* * *

**Orphea's room**

The door clicked as it opened, shedding light into the corridor. "Reading this late? Come now, I shouldn't have to treat you like a child."

"I'm only fifteen, grandmother." Orphea shuffled the reports. "Varian is having some troubles because he told all his generals to build anti-dragon fortifications- you know, ballistas, fireproofed buildings, earthquake proofing for Deathwing..."

"And?" Neeve stepped into the room.

"And he's gone overbudget massively, because he overestimated the willingness of his enemy to try brute force." Orphea yawned. "So now the Alliance need us to bail them out. Joy. In other news, Alexstrasza thinks she's got some leads on where Deathwing might have gone. Apparently she found a talented company to search with her."

"You still need to sleep. Right now nothing is so immenently about to destroy us that you can afford to lose a good rest- and frankly if it was, then it's still my job to make sure you get at least six hours." Said the old woman sternly. "Are you going to extiguish that light or do I have to counterspell it?"

"Just let me finish up this report..." Orphea kept reading. "Oh, they found Anduin unconsicous in a field- an adult version of Varian's son. I wonder, with two kings of the Alliance here... Do you think we'll be dealing with more or less mess from them?"

"Is there such a thing as less mess in the Nexus?" Neeve made the floating light by Orphea dim in warning.

"I would argue yes... but frankly that's tempting fate." Orphea folded the paper, and held it out to Neeve. "Anyway, so long as everything stays under Alexstrasza's control then we're only looking at all the initial deaths, possible collapse of the Alliance, political upheaval in King's Crest and about half our most elite forces disabled because Deathwing just showed up. I expected worse, honestly."

Neeve took the paper. "We both know it's nowhere near over."

"Meh. My struggles with my father are nowhere near over, but if the issue can be shelved then frankly we're doing better than most of the Nexus."


End file.
